"Linda, don't do that."
"Linda, don't scratch."
"Stop that! Do you want ugly scars on your arms?"
"You really must stop scratching; it's really un-ladylike."
"Stop that, or you'll bleed."
"You're ruining your skin. Don't do that, Linda."
"For the last time, Linda, stop it!"
Linda peeked under her hand, her palm and the side of her elbow stained with blood. Dark purplish brown circles and lines dotted her skin. She scratched herself too much; when she got an itch, she'd scratch her skin raw. When the open wounds had scabbed over, she'd scratch again and make them bleed. It wasn't a habit she liked, and it wasn't one she was able to stop either.
She'd been doing it ever since she was little. One summer, she purposely scraped her legs on the playground and in the park, because she thought a lot of band-aids would make her seem cool. (To this day she laughed out loud at this thought process. She was so stupid). Looking back, she thought that was when the habit started.
Anywhere there was a scab or a scrape, she'd scratch it... unless it was on her face. She could hide scars on her arms, scars on her legs, scars on her back... but not on her face. She sometimes wondered if she had some sort of disorder, but the information for the possible disorders all said that it had to interrupt her life. It wasn't interrupting her life; it was only a minor inconvenience.
An underlying problem or just a bad habit, every adult told her not to mar her skin. They all told her to stop because it was "un-ladylike and disgusting". Her grandmother- the sweetest, kindest person on the planet- had even said words to that effect. Of course, she had said it nicely and in more of a suggestion than a command, but still Linda didn't listen.
Her "problem" only worsened when she started to intentionally hurt her skin, then pick at the scabs from the self-loathing episodes.
There was only one person in the world who never told her to stop scratching. He'd physically stop her from doing it, but he never spoke those words.
***********
Linda was sitting in her math class, very much distracted. There was one more week of school left, and she just wanted it to be over. She wasn't worried about the tests or her grades- she knew she was doing well. But she just wanted school to end. She was tired of getting up early and sitting in different classrooms for six hours while the sun was shinning outside. She knew her boyfriend felt the same way.
She took her eyes off the chalk board, and let them oh-so-casually float to land on her boyfriend. He looked as bored as she felt. She smiled and looked at him until he smiled back. She gave him a small wave, he mouthed something about a park. She only put her finger to her lips, tapped her watch, and pointed out the door. She hoped he understood that as later.
He seemingly did as he gave her a thumbs up then pointed to his math book.
"Pay attention to the lesson," the teacher said sternly, without even turning around.
Linda bit her lip from laughing at the face Danny had pulled at the teacher. She looked down at her math book to keep from laughing, and her hand went to her arm. She was vaguely aware that she started to scratch.
********
She met Danny at his locker after math class (which was stupidly at the end of the day. Who was even paying attention at the end of the school day?). "Hi!" She smiled brightly, "did you understand what I was trying to say?"
"Not in the slightest. I understood time and outside."
Linda laughed, "I was trying to say I'd talk to you later, after class."
"It's after class now."
"You mouthed something about a park?"
"Yeah, I wanted to know if you wanted to go. I got stuck with babysitting this week, and Jamie and his friends want to play soccer in the park."
"Is there a chance of ice cream?"
He smirked, "I'd say there's a definite possibility."
"Then I'll come along."
*********
They were sitting at the picnic tables while Jamie and his friends were playing. Linda smiled as the sun shone on her face, warm and comforting. "Oh I love spring."
"Me too. I'm glad it's finally here. I was sick of winter."
"Same," her hand moved to her wrist and she started to scratch.
Danny frowned when he noticed what she was doing, "did something bite you?"
"Hm?"
"You've been scratching at your wrist for a while now."
"Oh...." she looked down, cursed in her mind as a little bit of blood was smeared around the cut.
"You're bleeding. That's not from....?" He hated how he thought to ask that.
"No, no. No, I haven't done that for a while. It's nothing, I'll be okay."
He noticed some purple lines and dots on her arm, "what're those?"
She looked to where he was pointing and groaned. "I.... have a bad habit of scratching my skin raw. And when it or a scrape scabs over, I pick at it." She shook her head as she sat on her hand to keep herself from picking. "It's a disgusting habit, but I can't stop."
"Is that some um...." how to put this without offending her? "Some sorta... Is it something like OCD?"
"I don't know. All the research I've done is inconclusive. It says if the picking disrupts your life, then it's a problem and a disorder. But it doesn't interrupt mine. See? I've stopped. If it was a problem, I'd still be picking."
Danny tapped her left arm then the picnic table. He waited for her to put the hand that was previously under her thigh onto the table. He grabbed it, and shrugged. "So you don't hurt yourself."
She felt her heart soar, "will you do that forever?"
"Whenever I notice it."
Boy, do I wanna marry this guy! She thought as she gave him a loving kiss. Who knew she'd get her wish?
